


Reverberations

by Jena Bartley (jenab)



Category: Alias (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-01-12
Packaged: 2018-01-07 22:45:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1125281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenab/pseuds/Jena%20Bartley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Echos of the past come back to haunt Tom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reverberations

This story was for the Spy Santa story exchange on Live Journal. Thanks to [](http://celli.livejournal.com/profile)[**celli**](http://celli.livejournal.com/) for the beta.

The rain poured down, hard enough to soak him through thick layers of cloth and down to his skin. Tom could feel his skin growing cold as a chill crept through his skin and into his bones. It was a perfect night for staying home in front of a warm fire or huddling together with others in a pub, drinking beer. 

It always seemed to rain whenever he was in London. From a soft drizzle that was more mist than actual rain to the cold, pounding downpour of water that wiped everything clean, even streets stained with blood. 

_“Tommy!”_

_A young woman with short dark brown hair and eyes the same colour as his nearly knocked Tom over as she threw herself into his arms, hugging him hard. She pulled back to look him over, reaching up to rub his head shorn down to his scalp from boot camp._

_“You have no hair!”_

_“Same with you, Abby.” Tom ruffled his sister’s hair, causing her to laugh and squirm away from him. “How is grad school going?”_

_Abby linked her arm through his, bumping his hip. “Hard, but I love it. I’m so glad I came to London to study. How is the army treating you, Tom?”_

_Tom grinned down at her. “Good. I just finished basic training and I’m on leave for the next week. Thought I’d come and see what my older sister’s up to, make sure she’s staying out of trouble.”_

_Abby punched him in the side. “Hey! I’m always good.” Tom just laughed at her._

 

Tom turned up the collar on his coat in a vain effort to keep the rain off his neck. Shoving his hands into his coat pockets, he picked up his pace, keeping ahead of the memories crowding in his mind, demanding his attention. 

Up ahead, he could just make out the familiar outline of the pub through the rain and fog. His stomach knotted as he approached it. 

“Remember, you need to get within two feet of Bennett in order for the scan to work.” 

Marshall’s voice came through clearly in the mike hidden in Tom’s ear. Tom didn’t reply as he went inside the pub. For a change he was grateful that Marshall on the other end of the mike. It helped keep him grounded on his mission. 

He found the tech expert an exceptionally brilliant man, but the way Marshall rambled on about almost anything was exceptionally annoying. From how the others at APO treated Marshall, including Director Bristow, Tom figured the man gradually grew on you. He was grateful for Marshall’s gadgets and some of his disguises, but his personality got on Tom’s nerves most of the time. 

Inside, the pub was half full. Bluish-gray smoke cast a haze over the room from cigars and cigarettes, blurring the edges of everything. Music competed with the swell of noise from a dozen conversations of people in booths or slouched over the bar. 

Tom found his mark at the end of the bar, fingers playing with a bowl of nuts. Bennett’s face was pockmarked and sagging, with alert eyes under his dropping eyelids. Two fingers were missing from his left hand, and the skin was smooth and shiny from a long ago burn. 

Tom sat down beside him, gesturing for the bartender. The bartender came with a foaming beer, setting it down in front of him. As he picked it up, Tom could feel Bennett’s eyes on him. He took a long draw, glancing around the pub as he did so through the mirror behind the bar. Both the front exit and the one in the back just beyond the bathrooms were clear. No one lurking around. 

Reaching into his pocket, Tom withdrew a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He lit one up, inhaling deeply. That first intake of nicotine was both familiar and strange. It’d been a long time since he’d smoked on an assignment as part of his cover. 

He traced the edges of the lighter where it lay flat on the bar as he drank his beer, and smoked, appearing to be nothing more than a man coming in to unwind. He used the mirror to keep track of the pub’s patrons and Bennett siting beside him. Bennett had gone back to playing with the nut dish and ogling the pretty blonde waitress serving the booths. 

“Facial and body scan complete,” Marshall said into his ear. “Waiting for the computer to match up Bennett’s profile with our target. Should be a couple of minutes.” 

Tom coughed in acknowledgement. He finished his beer and motioned for another one. Feeling eyes on him again, Tom turned his head to see Bennett staring at him again. He stared back, smoke curling lazily from his cigarette. 

Bennett was the first to turn away, yelling for another beer. Tom stubbed out the end of the cigarette and lit another one, inhaling deeply on the harsh smoke, and hoping it would ease the knot in his stomach. It was more of a struggle than usual to keep his body relaxed and project an air of boredom. 

“Got it!” Marshall crowed. “Identity confirmed. Bennett is Patrick Shanahan, former IRA bomber and now working for Prophet Five. All you have to do is tag him and get out of there.” 

Tom coughed again and stubbed out his cigarette. He tossed some money on the table and rose from his seat. 

“Hey, can I get a smoke off of you?” 

Bennett had grabbed his arm and Tom fought to not turn around and hit him. Instead he smiled, and pulled out his pack and lighter again. 

“Thanks.” Bennett took one of the cigarettes as Tom slid the tiny tracker into his beer. 

The isotope tracker had a short life span but APO hoped that would be enough to find out where and what Prophet Five was up to next. 

Outside the pub, the rain was falling even harder. Tom walked for several blocks, making sure he wasn’t followed. Over his earpiece he could hear Dixon confirming that the tracker was working and he would be following Bennett. 

Once he was far enough from the pub, Tom hailed a cab. The cab was warm inside but did little to ease the chill residing deep inside him. Looking down, he could see his hands shaking from more than the cold. 

 

_His ears ringing from the blast, Tom pushed himself to his feet, shoving away the rumble that had landed on him. The night was lit up with fires from the explosion. He could smell flesh burning, see people with their mouths open-- but he couldn’t hear them scream, his hearing deafened by the explosion. The street was slick with blood and water from the pouring rain._

_“Abby!” His body was starting to ache and he could feel warm liquid running down his face that he knew was blood. He ignored it, focused only on finding his sister._

_He found her partially buried under a broken sign from one of the nearby pubs. Her eyes were open but unseeing; blood covered her face. Tom knelt beside her, pushing away the debris covering her._

_“Abby? Oh god, Abby!” Tom rested his fingers on Abby’s neck, finding nothing but cooling skin and the scream of sirens headed towards him._

“Agent Grace, are you all right?” Marshall’s voice was soft and hesitant and Tom could hear the concern in it. 

Concern for him not as an agent in danger of blowing a job, but actually for Tom as a person. It helped ease some of his anger and regain his focus on the mission. 

“I’m fine, Marshall.” 

“Okay. But don’t worry, we’ll nail Bennett this time.” Marshall signed off, leaving Tom alone with his memories and the long ago feel of his sister’s blood on his hand. 

It had taken him years to find out who had set the bomb and years more to pursue but never catch Bennett, aka Patrick Shanahan. This time, with APO, Tom might finally get the revenge he wanted for his sister’s death. That might not be what APO called it, but Tom knew the truth.


End file.
